Dead Series (Book 3): A Little More Alive (13 page)

P
aul stared at the dead and they stared back without
budging from the SUV. Twenty-five against one. Good versus evil. He could smell
them from this close. Even the chilly mountain temps couldn’t squash the rot wafting
from their splintered skin. The stench was getting worse and he couldn’t
imagine what they would smell like this August. Or this time next year. Their
shredded clothing tugged at his heartstrings. For beneath the blood and grime,
he recognized some of the name brands. Could imagine the stores they bought
them in. Could see the beaming smiles their faces once wore as they hit the
slopes or went to dinner with family and friends. Now, their expressions were hand-me-downs,
passed down from something sinister. No, they didn’t want to go shopping
anymore. They didn’t want pizza and Cokes in the food court. They wanted him
dead and there were no two ways about it. Movement off to his right pulled at
his attention but he stared straight ahead, silently cursing Calvin for shifting
behind a nearby pine. Paul held his hands out and let the M4 hang from his
neck.

“Well? Come and
get some.”

The corpses
snarled but didn’t move from the passenger side of the black Suburban. Paul
gritted his teeth, anger blooming in his gut. “Motherfucker,” he grumbled under
his breath, stepping a little closer. “Don’t start getting shy on me now!”

The mob maintained
their assiduous post, standing between him and the supplies he couldn’t survive
without. His heartbeat quickened in his chest. He hoped the smell of his warm
flesh would trigger their primal instinct to overpower whatever was keeping
them at bay. They should be all over him by now – at least one of them – but
they stuck to their dastardly plan and it got under his skin.

Stepping even
closer, he reduced the amount of space between him and the dead, simultaneously
decreasing the margin of error when the others started shooting from the sideline.
Not only would they have to miss the truck, but they’d have to miss him as well
and the safety zone was getting sandwich thin. “I know you can smell me,” he
said, holding their dead eyes. “I know you can’t control yourselves because
you’re less than human. Less than animal.”

They didn’t bite and
Calvin screamed. Paul whipped his gaze into the trees just in time to see
someone dragging him off into the woods. Calvin’s weapon sprayed the treetops
and the sound quickly faded with his screams over a steep hill as he vanished
from sight. Gunfire erupted as the others tried saving their comrade,
temporarily leaving Paul on his own. He snapped his head back around, fully expecting
the undead to be swaying on their feet right in front of him, their rancid
breath cold on his face. But they were still standing next to the truck like
good little bitches.

Hitting the
electric start on the keychain in his pocket, he brought the Suburban’s V-8 to
life. The headlights came on as well and it was just enough to distract the gathering
corpses for a shining moment. They turned to the Suburban, as if life was
waiting for them inside, and Paul wasted zero time making his next move. Unlocking
the doors, he darted toward the front of the vehicle and started shooting as
soon as the truck was just outside his line of fire. He held the trigger down
and screamed at the top of his lungs, spraying the throng with bullets and
splattering the truck with bloody guts and strongminded vengeance.

The dead went down
easily enough but the shooting going on behind him was a different story. The
others continued their assault on something he couldn’t see and it sent a tremor
rolling through him. Time was of the essence. Hopping into the driver’s seat,
Paul slammed the door shut and shifted into gear, the M4 hanging from his neck
interfering with his ability to steer. He gunned it up the driveway and slammed
on the brakes, throwing it in park and popping the door open. Shadows flickered
in the trees, peppered with muzzle blasts and screams. He was about to jump out
and join in the fight when his gaze hooked on the rearview mirror. Paul’s
stomach tightened at the sight of Dan sitting in the backseat. His best
friend’s face had continued to decay since that fateful night at Brock’s house
and the only way Paul knew it was him was by the torn clothing on his back and
the bloody blond hair sticking out in all directions. Dan was barely
recognizable, his jaw hanging by a sinewy thread, and it was all Paul’s fault.
Like so many others, he had failed Dan and it pressed against his lungs like an
iron corset.

“Stay in the
truck,” Dan said in a calm voice that sounded as much like Dan as his face
looked like him.

Gunfire jolted
Paul from his daze. He turned to see Stephanie backing toward the SUV with an
assault rifle hammering her shoulder and a ponytail swinging back and forth
across her jacket. He saw the things coming closer and stuck a leg out of the
vehicle. A heavy hand plopped down on his shoulder, driving him back into the
seat. “Trust me, Paul.”

He stared at Dan
in the mirror, afraid to turn and look upon him with his own two eyes. Afraid
he would turn to stone if he did. “Why?” he breathed, his response coming out
in a shaky plume.

Dan looked out the
window on his left and opened the backdoor. Paul turned and the color fled his
cheeks. He pulled his leg back inside and slammed the door shut just before a
plump man in a parka slammed into the door, rocking the vehicle. Curtis grabbed
the man’s fur lined hood and yanked him back far enough to blow his head off
without scratching the truck. Turning to face the throng behind him, Curtis
spread his legs and opened fire, jerking with each ear splitting round and
laying down cover for the rest of the team. “Get in,” he shouted, picking off
corpses as his teammates weaved through the trees.

Billy dove through
the open backdoor first, sliding across the leather seat where Dan was no
longer sitting. “Calvin!” he cried, crawling into the tailgate as Wendy jumped
in next. Stephanie reached the open backdoor and her head yanked back just
before she got in. She screamed to the high heavens as a man in a neon green
vest pulled on her ponytail. Paul pushed his window button down and raised the
Beretta, watching the glass slowly lower between them. The utility worker
pulled her closer to his bared teeth, the window taking its sweet fucking time
getting out of the way. Reaching behind her, she grabbed a fistful of her own hair,
engaging in a deadly game of tug and war while Curtis and Brian mowed down the
dead stumbling closer. The window finally cleared, letting in Stephanie’s
horrified shrieks and the cool mountain air. Paul stuck the handgun out the
window but it was too late. The dead thing won the battle and his teeth found
Stephanie’s shoulder. She cried out and Paul squeezed the trigger. The man spun
to the ground, taking Stephanie with him. Paul jumped out and was about to
shoot him again when he saw the dark goo oozing from a hole in his left ear.

“He won’t let go!”
Stephanie cried, wrestling with the dead man’s rigor mortis-like grip on her
ponytail.

Paul pushed her
hands away and pulled on the man’s wet fingers until they snapped off in his
hand. Throwing them to the ground, he helped her to her feet and checked her
shoulder.

“How bad is it?”
she cried, craning her neck for a view she couldn’t get.

Paul couldn’t
breathe, staring at the bite-mark in her coat. Pushing a finger through the
circular imprint of the man’s teeth, air finally slipped into his lungs. “It
didn’t break the leather.”

“Are you sure?”
Pulling her coat and shirt over her shoulder, she twisted her head around like
an owl, desperate to see the wound.

“It’s just a
bruise.”

“Are you sure?”
Her eyes rose to meet his. “Behind you!”

Spinning, Paul
shot a woman in the teeth and pushed Stephanie into the backseat before sliding
in behind the steering wheel. “Curtis!” he yelled through the open window,
watching Curtis back his way to the passenger seat with his weapon jerking and
smoking against him.

Brian fired off
three final rounds, efficiently dropping three more stiffs, and squeezed in
next to Stephanie while Curtis climbed in up front. They shut the doors at the
same time and Paul hit the locks button. Hands shot through his open window and
grabbed the collar of his coat. He pushed them back with hollow points that
rattled his vision and stung his ears. A few fingers held fast, hanging by the bony
knuckles digging into his coat. Lifting the window switch until it engaged the
auto-up feature, he let go and knocked the hands away. Chest heaving, he leaned
into Curtis to avoid any sudden swipes at his face, gun aimed directly at the
things still reaching for him. Decomposing hands grabbed the rising window,
slowing its roll and making the small motor inside the door whine as if it were
pulling a thousand horses. Fists and faces began slamming down around them,
rocking the SUV and blotting out the sunlight. With the window nearly to the
top, Paul got into the gas pedal and shook two female corpses from the hood. A
tall man got his fingers caught between the window and the door. He stumbled
along with the SUV, snarling and snapping, eyes pleading for Paul to stop and
give him a ride. Then his fingers ripped off and stuck in the window as he tumbled
to the ground and disappeared from view. The vehicle bounced as it ran him
over, the wheel jerking in Paul’s hands.

“Fucking-A, man,”
Curtis yelled, twisting around in the front seat to see a few corpses still
plodding up the driveway after them. “Those sonsabitches don’t give up!”

“Reload!” Paul
yelled, tearing up the driveway.

“Are you okay?”

Stephanie nodded
at Curtis. “He didn’t break the leather.”

Curtis blew out a relieved
breath and sank into the seat. “Jesus Christ, that was too close.”

Paul’s eyes darted
between the asphalt ahead and the rearview mirror. Blood dripped from the
fingers lodged in the window, running down the glass like oil. “What happened
to Calvin?” he shouted, driving way too fast even though the horde of undead
were quickly falling behind.

“They got him!”
Stephanie blew a loose strand from her face and switched out magazines with
trembling fingers. “They came out of the snow.”

Paul did a double-take
at her in the mirror. “They what?” He yanked the wheel to the left, narrowly
missing a tall birch with peeling white bark off to the side of the driveway.

“They must’ve had
some friends bury a couple of them because the snow isn’t even that deep,”
Billy added, slapping a mag in with his open palm. “Never saw em coming.”

Paul pounded the
wheel. “Fuck!”

“This shit gets
more screwed up every day.” Curtis exhaled a breath that ballooned his cheeks.
“Maybe we should start wearing camo.”

“Or Kevlar,”
Stephanie added, massaging the back of her head.

Paul pulled around
the circle drive and parked so they could zip straight down it if they had to
abandon ship in a hurry. Jamming it in park, he turned off the engine and
popped outside. With gun barrels pointing in all directions, they huddled
together in a tight circle, readying themselves for the next attack they knew
was coming. The spooky quiet sat in direct contrast to the natural beauty
around them. It was a perfect March morning that held bird calls, the smell of
jasmine and blatant lies in the air – cosmetic makeup for the festering sore
lying just beneath. With no sign of the living dead, Brian’s younger brother
Gary stepped out from the front porch, covering them with a 12-gauge and jumpy
eyes. Hesitantly, he came closer, lips silently moving as he took them in.

“Four, five, six,”
he murmured, eyebrows melting together into a frown. “Where’s the seventh?
There were seven of you when you left.”

That’s when the
screaming started. Everyone snapped their heads down the driveway and followed
it into the trees. Even though the shrieking was so high-pitched, Paul knew it
was coming from a man. Knew it was coming from Calvin. Hanging his head, he
prayed it would stop. Just stop and be over with. But Calvin continued wailing
off in the distance as those things went to work on him.

Gary stared down
the driveway with the shotgun slowly lowering along with his jaw. “What is
that?”

Wendy turned from
the tortured cries of pain splattering the mountainside, cringing with the
incessant echoes that followed. “Calvin,” she replied dully, trading a look with
Dot, who stood on the balcony above them with a rifle wrapped in her hands. “He
didn’t make it.”

Gary looked at
Paul as if he needed reminding of which one of them was Calvin. As if he had no
idea who Wendy was talking about. Paul let his gaze weave into the woods as
Calvin shrieked like the dead were slowly picking him apart, each painful cry
piercing his heart like a rail spike, and was he was powerless to stop it. Curtis
jammed the butt of the M4 into his shoulder and stomped down the driveway. Paul
grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks. Curtis turned to him with pleading
eyes and Paul slowly shook his head. Turning away, Curtis stared down the driveway
with Calvin’s unanswered pleas increasing the lines in his face.

The screaming went
on forever, each ghastly bellow making the group recoil in revulsion, every drawn-out
echo pushing their pulse to the limits yet again. Then it stopped. Their eyes
met in the quiet that smelled of gunpowder and pine needles. Paul could picture
the scene in his mind, wrenching his insides. He could see Calvin lying on his
back with his empty eyes staring up into the trees, glasses lying broken in the
snow while a mass of decomposing flesh throbbed over his lifeless body,
unraveling his intestines one handful at a time.